


Once I was Fire

by fussyone



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Dragon-hunters, M/M, Slow Build, but none is as terrible and big as Smaug, dragons are a common thing- kinda like plagues, hobbits have longer lifespan, myth places and adventures will be invented
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fussyone/pseuds/fussyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Middle-Earth where dragons are far from legends, Bilbo Baggins grew up between the mountains and the red deserts, loving the open skies and the changing moon. But then the fire devours his life once again, and he returns to the Shire with a grey heart and burdensome eyes. He was starting to get used to his new, gentle life when Gandalf brings a quest, old grief and a handful of thirteen uninvited guests into his very own doorstep. </p><p>As it turns out, it was easier to deal with dragons than with dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The spring rainfall

 

“Your first birth was easy, effortless. Born through your mother’s pain,” the Elder said as he kneeled in front of him. Bilbo could feel a multitude of eyes from the darkness of the tent. Belladona was behind him, patiently heating the dagger until the edge glowed red like the sun. “Your second birth was through dragon-fire. Your father died in the same flame that gave you this life. You must never forget the sound the green earth made when the dragon landed over it. The stench of burned flesh.” Bilbo keep silent, only his eyes betraying the emotions he felt within. Fear was not among them. “The most painful lessons are the ones we never forget. And fire it's a merciless teacher, but we learn, oh we do learn.” His mother silently gave the blazing dagger to the Elder. She looked like fine porcelain under the moonlight, Bilbo thought, like the untouched snow in the quiet hours before dawn.

The Elder lifted the dagger; and now he noticed how it was steaming in the cool night air. Don’t flinch, you must not flinch. “ _Don’t let doubts arise in your heart, and the smoke may never choke you. Don’t let death frighten you, and you may never die._ ” In the shadows, the clan began to chant. Bilbo clenched his teeth slightly when the dagger tenderly bit the skin of his chest, contouring a lung. There was a pause- a beat of silence and his eyes meet the Elder’s. “ _Don’t let the fury fade, and your own fire may burn out all the other's burning._ ”

Birth by fire and death by fire- a simple lesson. No one ever mentioned what to do once the flame has passed.

Bilbo had to learn that the hard way.

 

* * *

 

The market was crowded that morning. 

Thrimidge Day was fast approaching, and enthusiastic hobbits were shoving and pushing each other trying to be first in line to buy Pervinca’s abnormally large artichokes. And since in the stall next to her, Rudigar was selling his always famous vidalia onions, the two busy lines got mixed, and now two old ladies started arguing up the front, both insisting they were the next one to be attended.

Bilbo stood up on his tiptoes to take a peek. No hobbit would start a quarrel in broad daylight, that’s for sure. But knowing how cranky old Dora is, and how tightly she was griping her green-pastel umbrella, there might be a good old fight to break the dullness of the morning. Straightening his posture, he took a long look around crowd. His eyes made contact with Prisca’s, and he cursed himself when the matron started calling his name.

“Oh, good morning, my dear Bilbo." She pushed some Brandybuck fella rather harsh to get next to him. “It's been awhile since I saw your comely face. How are you faring?”

Despite the fact she was obviously using the conversation to skip places in the line, there was honest concern behind her question.

“Good morning to you as well, dear Prisca. I'm doing well, thank you.” He lowered his tone a bit. “Albeit I thought I would be back home by this time. We have already missed Elevenses, at this pace we will all miss Luncheon as well!”

“Oh, I agree. Such a waste of a fine Trewsday morning. And I still need to purchase fowl, cabbage and leeks. And five boxes of Gundahar’s red and white wine. Such a fool I am, I should have went there first. Fatty Fred is going to order the whole cellar, I’m sure!” She narrowed her eyes when she saw Bilbo’s curious look. “It is for my daughter’s wedding. Don’t tell me you have forgotten!”

“I have not. But its three weeks away, a bit too early to start staging the happy event, don’t you think?”

For the incredulous look she was giving, he might as well have told her the food in her bags grew wings and was flying away. He had never seen someone’s eyes get that round.

“Only you would say such a silly thing, my boy.” It took her a while to regain her usual composure. “And I wanted to reaffirm your attendance. I do not care a frig what business that vagabond Wizard has with you. Remember you promised me, and a Baggins always keeps his sworn word!”

“Wizard?”

“Oh, yes. Andwise told me he saw one of the big men, all dressed in grey and with a tall pointy hat, waiting at your green door. It cannot be other than the Grey Wizard!” she clenched her jaw a bit, and looked almost frightened. “He was your mother’s friend, was he not?”

Bilbo had been just a babe, still trying to teach his chubby legs to carry him without falling, last time the wizard had visited the Shire. The hobbit had a vague memory of fireworks, of gray rags and cloth sandals. He remembered getting frustrated of how short he was, and, when the wizard knelt so he could look at his face, Bilbo was so excited he ended up smashing his little wooden sword against the wizard’s nose.

There was also that time, in the Isen river bank, when a reckless move against a pullet Verdant dragon left him with a dangerous jab in his side. He was deep into a fever when the wizard showed up, and, by the time Bilbo regained conscious, he was long gone. His mother had told him Gandalf saved his life.

“Yes,” His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke. “He was her most beloved friend.”

 

By the time Bilbo was able to purchase all the ingredients for tonight's supper, he was abreast of twelve different patterns for wedding tablecloths, the best method to remove Camelina sauce stains, and a list of endless reasons of why Prisca was sure her neighbor untied his goat at night and let it eat her beloved forget-me-nots.

He was fond of the housewife, but their exchanges usually left him with a headache.

She had a good sense of smell for troubles and grief, and believed her blueberry pie could help heal any pain. When he returned to the Shire, Prisca gave him one simple look, and the proceeded to stuff him with pies and affections. Not that Bilbo would complain, of course. She could tame Wargs with the deliciousness of her cooking.

The concerned looks his Took- Boffin friends gave him when he stopped to say hello, remind the hobbit of the unexpected visitor he had waiting at home.

He felt nervousness rose up in his body, slow and steady, and stopped his walk when his hands started to shake.

 

  _[Countdown from ten to one, dear. We cannot afford the luxury of fear. A steady hand and a clear head are your biggest weapons.]_

Taking a deep breath and feeling that nasty uncertainty that took a hold on his chest solve a little bit, Bilbo went back home.

But if his strides were a little slower than normal, no one will ever know.

 

Gandalf looked utterly ridiculous sitting on the bench like that. It was noticeably too small for him, and in consequence his knees were almost touching his shoulders. He appeared to be pouting, and he gave Bilbo an accusing look when he saw the hobbit walking down the road, but there was also sincere fondness in his eyes. Bilbo anticipated feeling wary, but instead a sense of familiarity hit him so hard he almost cried out.

So, this was the wizard. The one from Belladona’s tales around the bonfire, about the ocean and faes and the rescue of princesses and princes from unkind fates. The very same who taught his mother about exotic medical herbs, and to look upon the light of starts during moonless nights, to remind herself that beyond the despair, there was beauty and grace untouched even by shadows.

“Gandalf the Grey! You are certainly the most unexpected surprise” Bilbo said. And by this time he meant it, barely able to keep the thrill from his voice. “What are you doing travelling so far West? This land hasn't seen you in eighty years!”

All the petulance the wizard felt during the morning was gone in a blink of an eye ¨Bilbo Baggins! My, you have grown like weed over the past few decades.¨ The wizard stood up leaning on his staff, and Bilbo realized his head barely reached Gandalf’s chest. But the little tease made the hobbit laugh.

“Well, come, come.” Bilbo smiled, opened his fence and started to walk towards the green door. “No doubt you must have the most outstanding stories to tell. Just let me store the food and we can share tales over tea and scones.”

“What an alluring invitation! But I have no time for afternoon tea, I’m afraid. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and, I believe, my dear hobbit, that you will be the most appropriate one for the job.”

Between clenched teeth, Bilbo took a couple of deep, calming breaths. “No” he brusquely said. “I’m afraid I must decline your invitation. I am done with the wilds, Gandalf, I-”

The wizard’s bushy eyebrows rose until almost disappearing under his hat. “Bilbo, I did not wish to cause you any discomfort. I would not have came to disturb your peace unless it was a matter of great urgency.”

“ _No_ , Gandalf.” This time Bilbo found his voice and took control of the situation. “I will not go to this adventure of yours. However, if you find yourself with time to spare, I will be more than happy to invite you to any meal of your liking. Good-bye!”

Turning on his heels, and closing his door on Gandalf’s face, was to be among one of the rudest things he has ever done. The wizard responded by carving a little rune over the recently painted door, but Bilbo did not notice.

 

 

The next day, Bilbo woke with the sound of a lovely rain.

Nowadays, he could recognize an approaching storm only by the clouds and the natural sensitivity of hobbits to the changes of humidity in the air. A few years back, it was an acute pain on his left arm that warned him first, and gave him time to close the front windows and to secure two layers of impervious cloth over the new buds in the garden.

Now, fully awake, he remembered he did not do those tasks last night. His little chat with Gandalf left him turbulent, and he tried to finish the translation of the Elven tales Mirabella commissioned from him. But after an hour of writing he realized he was merely copying back the texts in Elvish. And, cursing the waste of ink and paper, went to sleep early.

Bilbo remained in his bed for a few minutes longer and then he got up, grabbed the last slice of chocolate cake and went to start his day.

 

His Featherfoils and Night Bloomins were very painful to look at.

He relied on his instincts and decided to plant them in the far west side of his garden, in contradiction of his neighbor’s opinions of putting them in the south-east side. Despite the fact Bilbo was right about the placement, they looked so grim, might as well be rotten. The rain will do them good, and he decided to give the water flowers one more chance to blossom before pulling them out and planting new seeds.

It is true hobbits have an innate attachment for the things that grown; but no one was born knowing all secrets, and Hamfast put his heart into teaching him all a proper hobbit needed to know about his own garden. He had the patience of a priest, and never got bothered by Bilbo’s questions; instead he looked pleased by them.  Bilbo wrote him a small book about all his knowledge of medicinal and toxic herbs, their different modes of application and degrees of perseverance, and where to find them. And even if Hamfast did not think of a situation where he might need to implement mostly of this particularly information; he read the book from cover to cover, until he knew it like the palm of his hand.

For a moment, Bilbo thought about visiting him and his wife. Bell’s jokes and Hamfast’s childhood stories always manages to cheer him up. But the clouds were grey but gentle, the rain free of the sound of thunder. He went back inside to grab the weapons he keep in the Spare Room, enough food for a decent lunch, and walked towards the Bindbole Woods.

He childish jumped in the puddles forming on the road, when he was sure no one was looking.

 

After the Battle of the Greenfields, mostly of the families living in the North Farthing migrated southward. The small northern Took clan remained in the region, and some hobbits traveled to the wood to hunt. But these parts of the Shire were the least populated and Bilbo found it was easier to train without children trying to imitate his movements, and old housewives whispering and pointing him with the finger. It also allowed him to keep a close watch to The Dim Hills, because their low elevations and cold weather made them a likely nest for a Haze Dragon.

He placed three camps in the woods, each separated from a distant of around ten miles. The two farthest were set on high ground and, on rainy days such as this, the slope of the land formed numerous natural streams across the area. For convenience, and a bit of laziness, Bilbo decided to use the first camp. 

The training ground was nothing fancy. There were many straw targets scattered across the woods and hanging from the branches, and some dummies behind rocks and logs. The rest of the obstacles were from the forests own creation. The basic routine was more easeful than his mother’s, but Bilbo wanted something to keep his senses sharp, not to go to bed feeling like his body was a mass of nerves and bumps.

When he felt his limbs tickled and warm, he recreates his lived experience against dragons, goblins and crooks alike; trying to think better strategies he could had used and correcting his own mistakes, so he would not commit them again.

 

The first crickets of the night started to sing by the time Bilbo began his way home.

He’d taken a hard fall onto his shoulder and it was slightly swollen from the impact. His head was sore from a hit against a branch, when he idiotically jumped and tried to grab an inattentive Blue Tit with his bare hands. He limped a bit and had the biggest smile his face was capable of. 

Cursing himself, he promised he would do this more often.

Bilbo has become attached to the slow routine in which consisted his now gentle life; but his body ached more for the lack of training than after it, too used to fast walks and the weight of weapons on his back. He had not felt this happy in some time; he swore he could feel the moonlight, shinning all above the storm clouds like the flowers blooming at his feet; kissing him like a wave and giving him peace.

Oh, _yes_. It was a good night.   


	2. The party

Heavy rain was falling by the time Bilbo made it to Hobbiton. The roads were empty, but the noise of cutlery and chatter was coming through the windows and filling the night. Bag End was still a quarter of mile away, and he needed to hurry if he wanted to take a bath before supper.

He was close enough to see his green door when someone called his name. Paladin and his sons were watching the rain sitting on their porch; when the little ones saw him, they ran to greet him, ignoring their father’s shouts as they got their feet dirty and their clothes wet. His friend did not invited him to come in, since Bilbo was soaked to the bone; instead scolded him as if he were one of his children and gave him three medium-sized chubs, fished by the Took the very same morning.

He absently opened his door, mind already set on a warm bath and a plentiful supper. Before leaving that morning, he took the precaution of putting a big and flowery-smelling towel and a basket for dirty clothes in the lobby. The bath felt delightful, his skin almost sang when the mud and grim was cleaned. It was the constant roaring of his stomach that made him exit the tub, otherwise he could have remained in the warm water until midnight. After he was dry enough, he put on his nightsuit and his father’s bathrobe and went to kitchen.

 

The aroma of chubs with piper filled the room and it was making his mouth water. There was chicken, spinach and caramelized onion tart, and instead of choosing one, he took two slices from each flavour, and a portion of strawberry pie as well. The variety of food and drinks placed out on the table made it look like a feast for kings. Oh, yes, happiness comes in the form of streaming potatoes with sugar and seasoned fish. He was about to take the first bite, when the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

That was strange. No Shire-folk would interrupt supper unless it was a matter of great urgency. Feeling both slightly worried and terrible irritated for having his meal interrupted, Bilbo ran toward the door. But if it was Prisca coming to complain about her neighbor again, he swore by the Good Earth he will release a herd of goats in her garden.

It was not Prisca waiting for him at the entrance of his house, not even a hobbit, but a dwarf. A tall dwarf with a wet green hood. Bilbo’s eyes trailed from the scars on his face toward the twin axes on his back. The muscles of his legs instinctively tensed, his whole body prepared to run. Instead of attacking, the dwarf bows slightly.

“Dwalin, at your service.”

The hobbit needs a couple of second before coming to his senses. He thinks of closing the door on the dwarf’s face, but no, he was a Baggins, he needed to be respectable. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours!”

Taking it as an invitation, Dwalin walks inside the house, dripping muddy water all over his carpet. He was a Baggins, _he needed to respectable_. Throwing the dirty clothes he left in the basket into his guest’s bald and tattooed forehead was not respectable. The dwarf would probably just punch him in the face and eat all his food if he tries.

“I beg your pardon but, do we know each other?” Bilbo said, and not even all the years he spend mastering a mask of friendliness could cover up his nuisance.

Dwalin did not bother to answer; instead he took off his coat and dumped some of his belongings on the floor. He looked at the hobbit like if it was Bilbo’s fault he had to walk under the pouring rain.

“Which way, laddie? Is it down here?” When Bilbo only gave him a perplexed look, he growled: “Supper! He said there’d be food! Where?”

Oh, he was hungry; well, Bilbo was hungry too, perhaps they could share the supper. Uninvited guest or not, no hobbit would close his door to a visitor. The hobbit pointed towards the kitchen and got a heavy and wet cloak smashed against his chest in appreciation for his trouble.

The following minutes were filled with uncomfortable silence, or maybe worse, the disgusting sound of a dwarf chewing a fish’s head with his mouth open. Bilbo winced a bit, then took one of the tarts and started eating.

“I have bountiful food stored, so east as much as you wish. But it’s just that I was not expecting company.” The dwarf chooses to ignore him, but the hobbit was sure he was listening. “And that would be the problem, you see, even though guests are always welcome in my house,” he stopped for a second when he saw how Dwalin grabbed two slice of tart and smashed them in his mouth, at the same time.

Another, even louder ring at the bell, interrupted him before he could continue

Dwalin glanced up. “That would be the door,” and then he returned his attention to the food.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes, but went to answer it without complain. He did not understand why he felt surprise when there was yet another dwarf in his porch.

“Balin, at your service!” The dwarf puts a hand on his chest and bows deeply.

“Good evening.” Bilbo monotonously said. The dwarf was soaked from head to toes and, feeling a bit guilty, the hobbit took a step back and allowed him to enter his smial.

“The weather could be better, but rain is always welcomed when you have a friendly place to take shelter.” He smiled warmly to the hobbit, and caught sight of Dwalin's green hood. "Oh, I see they have begun to arrive already. I was afraid I was running late, you can’t trust these old bones anymore." He hung his hooded cloak on the nearest peg, and the wooden rack protested soundly under the weight.

Bilbo did not know what technique the dwarves used to make their cloaks so impervious, because Balin’s clothes were completely dry. When they passed to the Parlour, the old dwarf bellowed a rich laugh.

“Oh, evening, brother.”

Dwalin almost dropped the cookie jar he was harassing and returned the smile.“By my beard, you are shorter and wider than last we met.”

His voice was full of affection; Bilbo averted his eyes, wanting to give the brothers some privacy, and went to grab some ale and tart for the newcomer. Balin seemed to have some good manners, so it was right to treat him properly.

Two hungry travelers. His cakes might run short and that was a horrible thought. His reputation as a host might get stained. He grabbed one of his finest Elven daggers, the one in the drawer of the Antium table, and hid it in his waistband- better safe than sorry. Stabbing one of his guests would do no good to his reputation either; he hoped it would not come to that.

The two dwarves were in the kitchen and Balin hearty smiled when he gave him the food.

“I hope you are comfortable and warm, after spending so long under the spring rain.” Bilbo said. Dwalin ignored him once again, drinking the beer Bilbo brought for his brother. But Balin seem to sense something in the hobbit’s tone, because he gave him a long pensive look. “And I like visitors as much as the next Hobbit, but I do like to know them before they come visiting. Both of you are completely unknown to me, and-” Dwalin was cleaning his teeth with his pinky finger, and proceeded to spit on the floor, small chicken piece and all. “I’m sorry?!” Bilbo’s voice rose an octave as he screamed.

Balin smiled at him. “Oh, apology accepted, laddie. Do not fret.” And then continued discussing their affairs, as if all arguments had been clarified.

Astonished, Bilbo almost wished he was dealing with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, at least the fussy hobbit had the cortesy of not turning her back on him. The doorbell ringed, once, and then once again. And he was half way towards the door when it hit him.

_Gandalf_.

He should have known the wizard would try to get back at him; damn big-folks, always trying to get the last word. Having dwarves invade Bilbo’s smial might be the wizard’s idea of a joke, or maybe it was retribution for refusing to accompany him on that adventure. Or maybe both.

The ringing of the bell began again, this time constantly and Bilbo opened the door with a curse.

Dwarves, again- hardly a surprise at all.

“Fili.” said one.

“And Kili.” added the other.

“At your service!” They finished simultaneously, while they swept off their blue hoods and bowed.

They barely had any beard at all, maybe they were children. Or females; Bilbo once heard all dwarves grew beards, males and females alike; he also has heard there were no women among dwarves, and they simple grew out from the stone. But the later statement was highly doubtful since it came from a drunken man singing in the Fairwood Inn.

One of the dwarves smiled. “You must be Mr. Boggins.”

Bilbo really did not have patient for this. “I apologize, but I do not know either of you; you must have come to the wrong house.” he said, and tried to close the door but the same happy dwarf stops it with his foot.

“What? Has it been cancelled?” poor lad, he looked terrified.

“But no one told us.” said the blond one, and he looked at the hobbit with suspicious.

“They must not like you. ” Bilbo snapped, and it was almost ridiculous how one of the dwarves looked as he was about to cry. With a groan, the hobbit closed his eyes for several heartbeats. “No,” he finally said, and looked back at the dwarves, “nothing has been cancelled.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” The dwarf pushed the door open with force, and it made Bilbo stumble backwards. “And Dwalin and Balin are here already!” He added when he saw the two hanging cloaks, at the same time he threw his own cloak and belongings into the floor. Then he shook his soaked hair like a dog.

The blond one, Fili –was his name Fili?- gave him a haughty look before entering into the house. “I just had ‘em sharpened, so don’t hurt yourself.” the dwarf smiled and threw his twin swords into the hobbit’s chest. Bilbo was barely able to hold their weight.

“I think I can manage, thank you” Bilbo dryly answered, the just dwarf raised an eyebrow and took out a small dagger from the inside of his coat. “How many more of you should I expect?”

Fili frowned a bit, as if trying to remember. “We are numbered thirteen, Master Hobbit, perhaps more. And another group should arrive soon, we saw them coming behind us in the distance, Gandalf among them.”

_Yes_ , his cakes were in danger.

“Quite impressive, this place.” This one was Kili. “Did you do it yourself?”

“No, no, it’s an inheritance from my father.” Bilbo absently said. Fili was taking a couple of knives from his sleeves now, and the hobbit felt curious about their angular shape.

When Bilbo looked back at his other guest, the dwarf was crushing his mother’s glory box with his heavy boots- wait.

_Boots_.

Dwarves had men feet; hairless and so delicate they needed to wear boots to protect them. Boots that walked over roads and forests and got covered with dirt and excrement. And now Bilbo noticed the mud trod, going from the lobby to the kitchen to the pantry, staining the floor and his grandmother’s carpet.

Once Kili felt satisfied with the state of his footwear, he looked at the hobbit and smiled. “We eagerly came under the promise of delicious food, Master hobbit. I hope you’d made some peach pie and roast turkey for me and my brother.”

“And cinnamon rolls.” added Fili.

“Especially cinnamon rolls.” agreed Kili.

Bilbo just blankly stared at them.

Kili was still smiling, Bilbo was still staring and Fili was still taking out knives from hidden places when Dwalin came to look for his comrades.

“Fili, Kili, come and give us a hand, lads” Dwalin put an affectionate hand on each dwarf’s shoulder and pushed them towards the dining room.

Bilbo remained in the lobby. He started counting. By the time he reached forty, he felt a little more like himself.

The weight of weapons he was holding was starting to make his arms quiver, and he put them with the rest of the dwarves’ belongings. Despise how much these smelly dwarves were getting on his nerves, they were not to blame for Gandalf’s uncivil pranks. They seemed to be no imminent threat, and Bilbo felt the tension of his body loosen slightly.

 

The dwarves were trying to put the old oak shelf in the hallway.

“Stop!” Bilbo said, and then added slowly, like if he were speaking to children: “You will damage the floor if you drag it. Lift it up a bit.”

The dwarves, oh miracle of miracles, followed his instructions.

“There are chairs in the kitchen, you can grab those. Not the one in hall! That’s an antique!” Fili and Kili seemed amused to be bossed around by a small hobbit. Dwalin went to the pantry, and started putting food on the table.

“I saw Gandalf yesterday.” Bilbo said to Balin. “I invited him to come to my house whenever he pleased, but he never set a particular date nor mentioned he will bring company”

The dwarf frowned. “Master Gandalf told us you were aware of us coming, offered your own house for the meeting even.”

That _plaguy_ wizard. “No, I’m afraid not. He invited me to go on an adventure, which I firmly refused, but said no more.”

“Oh, I see- I apologize for the misunderstanding, Master Baggins. But I cannot give you more information; the detail of the quest will be discussed later.” Balin said, at the same time Dwalin was passing beside them, carrying six different platters of food, and Bilbo’s stomach rumbled with hunger, reminding the hobbit of the supper he never finished. Balin barked a laugh. “But let’s enjoy the food now. We will set the table for everyone, laddie, you just wait for the rest to arrive.”

Bilbo could not fault that logic. Maybe the night would not be a disaster after all.

As to answer him, the doorbell rings.

 

When he opens the door, he barely is able to avoid being crushed under a pile of heavy and soaked dwarves. They were clumsily trying to untangled themselves, looking a lot like life fishes outside the water.

Gandalf crouched a bit to look through the door. The innocence in his eyes was completely bogus, and Bilbo knew it.

“Gandalf. How nice to see you again so soon.” His tone was strained, but lacked real venom. The wizard just smiled.

 

Bilbo sighed wearily, running a hand over his curls. He was a carbon-copy of his father except for two details, courtesy of his mother: his eyes, same shape and colour as Belladona’s; and his hair, perpetually untidy curls that went in every direction, even worse on humid days.

He’d gone to his room to change clothes, leaving Gandalf to deal with the dwarves, thinking that perhaps the wizard’s presence would calm them down a bit. But no, now all of them were plundering his pantry. An entire two week food reserve –including the one he had saved for Thrimidge Day- gone in the blink of an eye.

A delicious aroma was coming down the hall, almost overshadowing the smell of wet that seemed to have clung onto the dwarves’ clothes. Oh, that was the rumble of his stomach again, _he was hungry_.

 

When he went back to the dining room, a quick look confirmed that yes, that was his full pantry set on the table. He tried very hard to turn his pout into a glare when he looked at the wizard.

“Cheer up, dear boy, you would not allow a merry group of travelers go hungry when you have plenty to share, would you?” The wizard had the confounded habit of being right when he had no right to be. His mother would rise from her ashen grave just to box his ears; he smiled at the thought.

“Next time,” Bilbo simply said, “we gather at your place.”

Still laughing, Gandalf gently pushed him towards the table. The hobbit ends up sitting between the wizard and Balin, something for which he is grateful when he sees the rest of the dwarves’ table manners. They are grabbing the food with hands and dirty gloves, choking and spiting chicken and pork in the air when they laugh. Bilbo hastily grabs the whole blueberry pie for himself when he sees Kili’s peach-covered hands descending to take a slice. The dwarf frowns and yells angrily at him, but it is muffed by all the turkey pieces on his mouth. Fili seems to understand what his brother said, because he chokes on his beer and some of it comes out from his nose. _Ugh_.

There are Wargs who eat their prey with more delicacy, but the dwarves joy is infectious, and after a while, Bilbo finds himself smiling along them. Eating and laughing with a group of tired travelers, suddenly the situation was so familiar it made his chest felt as if it was filled with smoke, with no more room for his heart to beat; the sentiment went away just as soon as it came. When they are about to toast, someone notices Bilbo’s cup is empty. Instead of bringing another barrel, Fili and Kili solve it by purring half of their ale into the hobbit’s cup. As unsanitary as it was, he could not refuse a toast with anyone- you never know when it might be someone’s parting glass. At the count of three they drank their ale.

When the burping contest began, Bilbo simply looked down and ate his pie. A thought occurred to him.

“Gandalf?” Bilbo whispered. “I don’t think I quite catched everyone’s names.” At least from the group that arrived last; they introduced themselves, but their names sounded too much alike and he was too cross with Gandalf to paid attention to them. The hobbit spoke in a blissful second of silence, and everyone seem to have heard his little confession.

“Oh, mister _Baggins._ How dare you? Ye hurt our feelings.” One of them said.

They started chanting their names. So fast and loud it was almost like a song. When the hobbit looked confused, they went again, but saying the name of a companion instead of theirs, and laughing when Bilbo tried to repeat and got them mixed up. They continued like that for a while. _Details,_ _go for things that distinguish them_ , he remained himself. After sometime, Balin took pity on the hobbit and started whispering the correct names. When he was able to remember them all, they cheered and raised their ale. Bilbo could not stop a smile from stretching across his face, but he tried to conceal it by chewing another bite of his tart.

 

The enthusiasm cooled down a bit, everyone was sizzled from drowsiness and ale alike. Bilbo noticed there was one dwarf missing, _‘running late’_ Balin had said, and the hobbit rescued some vegetables and chicken from the dwarves and tried to make soup.

He knew Gandalf was behind him before the wizard spoke. Bag-end was too small for his comfort and, regardless of all his magic, the wizard was embarrassingly clumsy.

“Such jolly friends you have, Gandalf” Bilbo muttered, not looking up from the carrots he was chopping.

“Oh, yes, they are a merry throng, once you get used to them.” said Gandalf, smiling behind his glass of red wine.

They spend a couple of minutes in silence.

“Gandalf, about the adventure…” Bilbo trailed off.

“Mm, what about it?” The wizards sounded casual, but when he turned around and could see the optimism in his eyes.

“What _is_ _it_ , exactly?”

“You don’t have a guess?”

“ _Gandalf_.”

“ _Bilbo_.”

The hobbit let out a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and turned his back to the wizard. The soup was ready, and he covered the pot to keep the heat. He had many guesses of why the dwarves and the wizard could need him, each one more unnerving than the last.

“Excuse me?” Ori timidly poked his head through the kitchen door. “I don’t mean to be interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?”

Before Bilbo could tell him he would take care of the dishes, Fili grabbed the plate Ori was holding. There was a pause, the dwarf looked at him, winked, and then threw the dish over his shoulder.

The hobbit would never admit he shrieked.

But the plate did not smash against the floor, as he feared, it was safe in Kili’s hands. When Bilbo tried to grab it, the dwarf threw it back to his brother.

Hobbit children have this game; two kids pass a ball back and forth, and a third, usually smaller kid, has to catch it. It’s not much of a game as a cruel taunt that usually ended in tantrums and tears.

Bilbo was not going to cry, but he was terrible tempted to grab the ugly vase next to the kitchen's window and smash it against one the brothers’ faces. To his frustration, the dwarves in the dining room started to rhythmically pound his delicate silverware against the table.

“Do not do that! You’ll blunt them!”

“What’s that, lads? He says we’ll blunt the knives.” said Bofur, he could hear the laugh on his voice and had a bad feeling about it.

The dwarves took out their instruments from their bags and started to _sing_. Bilbo spend the next minutes running from the dining room to the hall to the parlour, indignantly yelling while a rain of plates, bowls, and utensils flied above his head. When he enters the kitchen, he is greeted by a large pile of neatly clean, unbroken crockery and twelve laughing dwarves.

A loud tap at the door announced the arrival of the last dwarf and made the room fell into a heavy silence.

“He’s here.” said Gandalf giving them all a knowing look. The wizard was the first one to stand up and head to the door, with the rest of the dwarves and the hobbit following.

The porch is a chaos, he thought as greetings were being exchanged, weapons and bags covered in mud. Gandalf made a gesture with his hand and Bilbo stepped forward.

The thirteenth dwarf had an air of greatness and sharp eyes, and the hobbit felt a bit jittery to be fixed under his stare. He looked like a wolf, and just as dangerous. But Bilbo was no prey, he raised his chin and returned the glare.

“Bilbo Baggins,” announced Gandalf. “let me introduce you to the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.” The hobbit made a courteous bow with his head which the dwarf did not return.

“So, this is the hobbit” Thorin said, as he began to circle him. “Do you have any experience in the Wilds, Mr. Baggins?”

Bilbo was not expecting that question, but he could recognize a derisive tone when he heard one. He frowned slightly and imitated the face of mocking innocence his little cousin made when you ask him who ate the last cookie. “Why do you wish to know?”

Thorin snorted. “Have you done much fighting? What’s your weapon of choice?”

“Well you see, Master Oakenshield, once I was able to subdue a dalesbred lamb, and I did it by myself, with no one’s help!” The cooper dragon, or dalesbred, called like that because both big worm and sheep had similar horns, were among the dimmest dragons, but made up the lack of intelligence with bulk. He almost lost a leg that day.

“Thought as much, he looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” With that, and a derisive laugh, the thirteen dwarves disappeared into the dining room.

Honestly Bilbo was expecting a much more degrading insult. He looks at Gandalf and the wizard faintly shakes his head and follows the dwarves. The hobbit has always favored discretion, and no matter the reasons why Gandalf choose to not inform the dwarves that Bilbo was a Doi’kaviir, he appreciated the gesture. Not enough to not think, for a long moment, of simply walking to his bedroom, locking the door and leave the wizard alone with the boisterous dwarves. But he would remain anxious for a long time if the company leaves and he never finds out what they wanted. His curiosity has always brought him troubles.

 

The moment he enters the room, Gandalf asks him for more light; and in the luminosity of a lamp with a red shad, the wizard spread a map across the table and said: “Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

_Oh, no._ A little warning bells began to go off in Bilbo's mind. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, when he opened them, he finally looked at the map.

_The lonely Mountain._

The thought crossed his mind once or twice, but he label it under the category of ’too ridiculous’. The dwarves wanted to go against Smaug the Terrible. **A bloody great dragon _._**

“It has been foretol, ravens are flying back to the mountain” Oin face was serious, eyes full of solemnity. He cleared his throat and recited: “ ’When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.’ ”

“The beast.” Bilbo said between clenched teeth, but it came out a bit more shrilled than he intended.

“Aye, Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age” Bofur stated. “Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like scythes-”

“Yes, I’m aware of what a dragon is, thank you.”

But nothing he has seen can compare to Smaug. It was a name spoken in quiet tones, whispered with fear around the bonfire; and after the fall of Erebor, mostly hunters barely mentioned him at all, as if the mere saying of the name would summon him. There was always a sense of unnerving peace during a dragon’s Deep Slumber, like the calm before the storm. Except- Smaug's sleep is coming to an end, the heat should have melted enough of the dwarves' treasure for the dragon to wear it as armor. Bilbo tried to imagine it; a great dragon red in fury, blanketed in a coat of molten gold. He could not repress a shudder.

Someone banged his hand against the table, a loud resonant sound, and woke Bilbo from his thoughts.

“We might be few in number but we are fighter, all of us, to the last dwarf!” Fili exclaimed, his voice thick with determination, and it was hard to believe this was the same dwarf who danced over his table and left all the breads with a hole in the middle because he ate only the tenderest crumbs.

“And are you forgetting?“ Kili said, with shinning eyes full of naive excitement. ”We have a wizard in our company! Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!”

Gandalf looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Ah, well, now, uh-”

“How many, Gandalf?” asked Bilbo, partly pleased of seen the wizard uncomfortable for a change; but he was also very curious. His mother had told him stories about the way the Grey Wizard tricked and wiled dragons, but he never heard anything about killing.

“Uh, what?” the wizard looks at him, coughing on his smoke pipe.

“How many dragons have you killed?” Bilbo repeated, frowning a bit.

The company was getting more and more impatient each passing second. Someone yelled ‘Go on, give us a number’, and suddenly the whole room was a chaos, the dwarves jumping on their feet and yelling at each other.

_“Shazara_ _!_ _”_ roared Thorin and that one word is enough to make the dwarves shut up and return to their sits, “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? The Old Worm has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Do we stay back while others claim what is ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?”

As the dwarves cheered, Bilbo started to understand. He could not attributed the quest to anything other than a bit of madness and a long homesickness and fierce love for their stolen kingdom, but when Thorin spoke it was with such a conviction, with such _fire_ , and for a moment it almost didn't matter they were about to walk to a certain death, because there was raw courage beating in the dwarf's veins, and perhaps that would be enough, perhaps they can burn Smaug instead.

“You forget,” said Balin, interrupted the joyful yells, with a bit of resignation. “The front gate is sealed. There is no way inside the mountain.”

“My dear Balin, that is not entirely true.” saying that, Gandalf took out a key from his grey coat. Bilbo could not see Thorin’s face, but there was plain awe in the eyes of the rest of the dwarves and they hold their breath as Thorin grabbed the key.

“If there is a key, there must be a door.” Fili said slowly.

Gandalf nodded, “These runes mark a hidden passage to the Lower Halls.”

There was a pause.

“That means,” cried out Kili. “There is another way in!” And the brothers looked at each other in wonderment. For a moment Bilbo feared they were more proud of their own ability of stating the obvious than discovering they now have a way of accessing the mountain.

“Indeed, but the door remains invisible when closed, and the answer of where is it lies hidden in this map. I may not have the ability to read them, but there are others in Middle-earth who can.” Gandalf blew out a simple ring of smoke. “The task in hand will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and wit, I truly believe that it can be done.” He was peering at Bilbo while saying the last part, and the hobbit looked everywhere but the wizard’s eyes.

“That’s why we need a burglar!” Ori rose from his chair and Dori made him sit again.

Now everyone was looking at him, he felt the tip of his ears go a little red. “I- what? No, no! I am not a burglar!” That was not a lie. “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.” That wasn’t entirely true.

”Aye, and he is too soft.” said Gloin.

“I’m afraid Mr. Baggins is hardly burglar material.” admitted Balin.

“And we can’t go to the wilds carrying dead weight; we cannot trust a gentle-folk to know how to fight or fend himself.” grunted Dwalin.

“And I could have poisoned your food.” Bilbo blurted out before he could stop himself and then bit his lips, horrified. He had said stupid things on his life, but this one was one of the worst.

Silent fell in the room.

“Eh, no, what I meant is, I’m not defenseless and I know what dangers await beyond the border of the Shire. But now I come to think of it, well, I’m oblivious of what herbs and spices are toxic for dwarves, I don’t think I might have used any, and none of you seem sick, so-” Bilbo looked at Gandalf, pleading for help.

“I have meticulously inspected the food myself to prevent that situation.” Gandalf looked slightly unsure, like if the possibility of unintentionally poisoning hasn’t occurred to him. ”And Mr. Baggins is the burglar you need for this quest. Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is unknown to him.”

The Healing should have taken away the smell of killing that used to cling on him, which would give them a distinct advantage; Bilbo would go on a limb and assume Gandalf was the one who suggested take a stealthy approach. The dwarves glanced at Bilbo with distrust, but it seemed that the wizard’s explanation was sufficient to calm them down; but they were not quiet on how much they did not approved the choice for the burglar position. They began arguing again, the comments went from a, quite offensive, ‘I've seen sheep with more fight in them,’ from Gloin to the ‘He would do just fine!’ from Kili.

“Enough,” Gandalf cuts them off sharply, “enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is; Just let anyone say my choice is wrong, and you can stop at thirteen and have all the bad luck you like; or go back to digging coal.” The last addressed to Gloin, who was the one protesting louder and affectively making the dwarf huddled back in his chair. “You must trust me on this, Thorin.”

”Very well, we will do it your way.” Thorin said, after a long pause. “Give him the contract.” Balin took out a document and hands it to Bilbo. When he unfolds it, it almost reaches his knees.

“Don’t worry, laddie; It’s just the usual summary of expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.” said the old dwarf and smiled at him. Bilbo started to read.

Suddenly, he is aware of how frantically his heart is throbbing in his chest and of an acid taste on his throat. The contract is elaborated, almost _too_ elaborate. The descriptions of possible deaths and wounds felt too real; and he needs to take deep breaths before speaking again.

“Just give me a minute as I finish reading this.” With that he went to find somewhere quiet. He left the contract on one of the tables of the hall.

 

“This is madness, Gandalf.” Both wizard and hobbit were sitting in the Parlour, the later with a cup of linder tea in his hands.

“I will not deny the risk this quest entails.”

“Fourteen fools on their own against a great dragon.” Bilbo snorted. “Hardly a plan at all, more like a death sentence.”

“Well, since when hunting dragons is anything but deadly?” countered Gandalf. 

Bilbo made a face. All he wanted was to go and lay on his warm, welcoming bed and forget about all this nonsense. 

“But Gandalf, I can’t go running off into the blue, I have a home now. Whatever life I lead before, I don’t think I can go back to it.”

“Oh, can’t you? I see the Shire’s gentle hills have done you good, but you are restless, your bones still ache for open skies and the windy landscapes.”

“I don’t see how provoking a great worm will help that.” said Bilbo, not bothering to hide the sourness in his voice.

“Bilbo Baggins! I never thought you vain enough to assume this quest was mapped for your own benefit” Gandalf tone was deprecatory, and his shadow suddenly seemed twice as big. The hobbit felt ashamed and lowered his gaze. “The dragon is asleep, yes, but not for long. He will rise once again, and stronger than before. We need to take our chance now, while we still can.”

Bilbo was still looking at the floor. The wizard sat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “There is no dishonor on being afraid.”

Finally, Bilbo looked up. He wanted to say he was not afraid, to _lie_ ; but the wizard’s eyes were full of warm and sympathy and the hobbit bit his own lips hard enough to sting.

“I cannot take down Smaug, Gandalf.” he said in a voice as small as he was feeling at the moment. “It is not false modesty, I simply can’t.” Not even before, back when his mother leaded the clan and his blood brothers guarded his back.

“There is a reason why you are going as a burglar, not a hunter.” answered Gandalf. “Armies had faced him and fell; maybe it is time to try a different approach. Perhaps, a few will success where others have failed.”

The dwarves will go whatever Bilbo joined them or not. They will fight honorably and valiantly, and face a great dragon with nothing more than their delusion and die because of it. _‘A journey from which some of us, or perhaps all of us may never return’_ said Thorin. And the hobbit could not ensure their success in any way, but maybe he could help. One last big adventure, he may even be able to find some closure this time. Be brave, he reminded himself, brave as your mother, you are the son of Belladona, you need to be brave. 

Gandalfs eyes were knowing, and his expression was a little too self-satisfied.

“I still need some time to settle some business.” Bilbo simply said.

“Of course, my boy. We will leave early in the morning and wait for you at the Brandywine Inn. It’s that fine with you?”

“Yes- yes, it should give me enough time. Now, if you excuse me, I'm off to bed. This evening has been more than tiring.” The wizard nodded and bid him good-night.

The dwarves could use the spare rooms and make beds out of chairs and sofas on their own, because the hobbit was barely able to keep his eyes open; too tired to even think he was going on a journey in the morning.

Bilbo was already on his bed when he heard the dwarves’ voices echoing through the walls, a sound so full of grieve and unquestionable love. He fell asleep with the song ringing in his ears; it gave him very uncomfortable dreams, and he knew he will be assaulted by doubts in the morning, as morning always changes things, but now he did not regret his choice, not one bit.


	3. The road leads onward

He overslept.

He wanted to wake up before the Dwarves, go to the market for food and return to his smial to make breakfast for everyone. They would discuss further details of the quest, and once the company leaves, he will have enough time to prepare his bag and to say his goodbyes. But the sun was already up in the sky, and he needed to hurry if he wanted to speak with the Thain and make it to the Brandywine Inn before night time.

Bag End was empty, as he knew it would be. The porch and the dining room were a dreadful mess and there was a pile of unwashed crocks in the kitchen; the contract, unsigned, was on the same place he left it the night before. He mindlessly packed his dear leather bag- picking clothes, herbs and tools; his hands and eyes trained to select what would be useful and what would be not.  He grabbed his weapons, not the ones he used for training but his old ones. He lost his shield in the fire, he remembered with bitterness, but he had his bow and his daggers. He trusted it would be enough.

He lingered a moment by the doorway and looked back to his smial. He had a few faded memories of Bungo, he recalled the way his hands had a constant scent of ink and sawdust, and how tight his hugs were. Bag End was not a memory, but something tangible; rooms and details carved out of the love his father had felt for his mother. These walls gave him peace when he needed it the most. Even after being dead for so long, his _ath’ar_ found a way to chase his nightmares away. He closed the door behind him. The sun was hot this morning, the sky blue and cloudless. He never noticed one of the sides of the fence was slightly crooked. He would fix it when he gets back, he told himself. _When he gets back._

 

Druda, the Thain’s wife, greets him when he knocked the door and informed him his uncle was out, reconciling a dispute over some fugitive pigs between the Grubbs and the Bolgers. Bilbo asked to send word for Basso, the notary of Hobbiton, and Hamfast and his wife.

The Smial of the Thain was the biggest one in the Shire- with enough room to harbor three full families and a food reserve that would keep them all feed for a whole season. This place saved the lives of many, during the Fell Winter. It would take a while for everyone to arrive. He sat on the main hall, ate one of the cheese scones he was offered, and waited.

Isengrim Took was his mother's brother and the 12nd Thain of the Shire. He could be stern when the situation demanded, but there was always a hint of kindness in his grey eyes. Bilbo was too old to continue collecting father figures, but his uncle treated him with the same care as if he were his own son. And he was the only one who shared stories of Belladonna from before she crossed the borders of Hobbiton and went to look after the Old Took.

The Thain smiled when he saw his nephew. It became a little strained when he noticed the bag and the sword. “Boy, where are you off to?”

“East, uncle.”

“Rivendell?”

“Further, crossing the Misty Mountain and further more.”

Isengrim gave him a carefully look. “It was Gandalf, was he not? He did not say, but I was sure he came all this way to fetch you.” he sighed. “If I’m honest with myself, I always knew one day you would cross out the door and let your feet take you away from us.”

“I will return, I swear.”  Bilbo told him. In true, if his uncle asked him to, he would unpack his package and return to his smial, as if nothing had happened. “This is my home now, you are my family, and I’m afraid you will have to endure me for many more years.”

His uncle's lips curled upward in a sad smile. “I will hold on that. You are a Baggins, and a Baggins-”

“- always keeps his sworn word. Aye, aye, I know.” They both laughed, and Bilbo took two steps and hugged his uncle fiercely. They remained like that, until Druda came to tell them the table was served. He was in a hurry, he wanted to remind himself. But his uncle’s hand was warm on his shoulder and Druda’s rye bread sandwiches looked simply delicious. A couple of hours won’t hurt.

 

It was pass mid-day when Basso and the Gamgee couple arrived. The five hobbits moved to the Thain’s office. Hamfast glanced at him, his eyes full of worry, but Bilbo just smiled and asked them to take a sit.

“I’m very sorry for calling you all so suddenly, and around luncheon time, none less!” Bilbo said. The notary muttered something to himself, but he ignored it. “But I’m afraid it cannot wait. I’m leaving on a long journey, and I wanted to make sure I leave all matters arranged before my departure.”

“And what matters are you referring to, Mister Baggins?” Basso had a smooth voice, he sounded calm, even if his face only showed nothing but exasperation.

Butterflies fluttered nervously in Bilbo’s belly for a moment, he tried to swallow down the feeling. “The succession of my smial.” he said and looked at his two friends. “In case I do not return, I wish to make Hamfast and Bell the inheritors of Bag End.”

The couple gasped in surprise.

Hamfast stood up. “No, no, Mister Bilbo. Bag End it’s the house of a Baggins. We appreciate you consider us, but is just too much.”

“It’s your home, Bilbo.” Bell gently said. “We cannot accept something like that.”

“If the worst is to happen to me, I do not wish for Bag End to stay lonely and gathering dust.” Hobbit’s houses were passed only to the closest relatives. It was strange, and highly improper, but the Gamgee family took care of Bag End while he and his mother were away; in some sense, they were more owners of the place than Bilbo. “I should have done this years ago, forgive me.”

“You have cousins, Mister Bilbo. They should be the heirs, not us.” Hamfast looked lost, as if he wanted to keep refusing but felt he was insulting Bilbo by saying no. Hobbits never turn down gifts, no matter how exaggerated they were.

“I’m not changing my mind, and I don’t think anyone would love Bag End more than you two.”

“We… we will take good care of your house until your return, Mister Bilbo.” Hamfast finally said.

While Bilbo was talking with the couple, the notary and Isengrim finished the touches of the house deed, now with the Gamgee-Goodchild marriage as heirs. Druda contributed as a witness, and once the six signatures were present in the document, Basso gave a courteous bow and left the room.

A silence fell across the Thain’s office. Hamfast was the first one to speak. “My wife and I are expected in the Diggle’s residence, we can walk with you along the eastern road if you wish, Mister Bilbo.”

 Bilbo nodded and tried to hide a smile. After so long, Bell was able to convince her husband to take quadrille lessons with her. He saw Hamfast dance once, in the Yule celebration three or four years ago. Bilbo had a bit too much ale and felt very concerned, because the gardener was stomping his feet as if he were trying to make wine, but there were no grapes lying around. He voiced his curiosity and his poor friend got so embarrassed, he ended up sitting for the rest of the evening. The next morning, Bilbo, ashamed of his own indiscretion, went to hunt and came back with seven white rabbits for Hamfast.

After soft good-byes, only the Thain and Bilbo remained in the room.

“You are grown now,” Isengrim said, as if he was continuing a conversation. “Sometimes, when I look at you, all I see is a boy with scraped knees. Other times, it feels as if I’m looking at my sister.”

“Everyone say I look like my father.”

 “That too. He was a fine hobbit, your da’.” He looked at him awkwardly. “Do you have everything you need? Clothes? Food?” Bilbo nodded. “Your cousins are practicing the dancing routine for the Thrimidge Day in the Common Hall, you could pass by and say goodbye to them.”

“I’m afraid that if I look into Esme’s sad eyes my will might crumble and I would stay. Leaving is harder than I thought.” Bilbo admitted.

“Good, is supposed to. The pain doesn’t own you anymore- we do. From womb to tomb, we are bound to each other; bound by the Good Earth and the shared blood. Do not forget that. We’ll be waiting for you.” His uncle messed up Bilbo’s hair. “Farewell, nephew.”

“Farewell.” he whispered back. He crossed the door and did not look back.

 

Bell and Hamfast were waiting for him just outside the Thain’s gardens. It was a short walk to the Diggle’s house, they spend it in silence. Bilbo’s package was a bit too heavy, mostly of his armour was in the bag, because he felt silly walking down the Shire wearing vambraces and a brigandine.

Bell starts openly weeping when they reached the crossroad, her nose red as a cherry, and Bilbo feels the guilt as a punch in the stomach. He frenetically looks for his hand-chief, but it is not in his pockets and he can’t remember packing it. Bell manages to smile and took out her own hand-chief, but instead of wiping the fat tears running down her cheeks, she gave it to Bilbo. He softly caressed the hydrangea embroidered in the corners- it was lovely.

“For good luck.” she said.

Hamfast smiled as he puts an arm around his wife shoulders. “Until we meet again, my friend.”

 When they hug for the last time, Bilbo gripped Hamfast’s coat so tight he thought he might rip it. One more watery smile and off he went, walked the hill, passed the Boogen’s farm, and followed the east road.

 

 

Bilbo arrived at his destination at sunset, as the clouds reddened above the Old forest and the river turned a deep-purple. The Brandywine Inn was surrounded by beech trees and was more similar to the building of Bree than the ones in the Shire. He remembered the innkeeper, a woman named Gríma, who had an acid sense of humour and made the most delicious stout he had ever tasted.

When he opened the door, the heavy smell of sweat and roasted meat filled Bilbo’s nose. The place was replete of travelers, as it always was during the festivities of the flower season. The Dwarves probably had troubles booking their rooms. He stepped on a chair and glanced furtively across the Inn. A singer was reciting a ballad, but the song could scarcely be heard above the drunken conversations and clatter of cutlery. There was a solitary table, secluded from the bustle, and the hobbit could see some familiar grey hair peeking out from over the crowd.

Bilbo walked over to them. Gandalf was the first who saw him, and smiled.

“Bilbo, my boy. How good to see you again, so soon.”

All thirteen Dwarves broke off their conversation and stared at him with surprise. A wide eyed Gloin accidentally dropped his cup of ale into his own lap, but did not seem to notice.

“I signed it!” Bilbo exclaimed, while taking out the contract from inside his coat. Balin was sitting on the other side of the table, and the hobbit had to awkwardly lean over Dwalin to pass him the document. 

The candle light was dim, and Balin had to squint his eyes a bit to inspect the contract. After a while he raised his head and smiled. “Everything appears to be in order.” he said. “Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

The company cheered and ordered another round of ale. Bofur went to look for an extra chair, so the hobbit could sit. He ends up between Ori and Kili. Gandalf was sitting on the other side of the table, and Bilbo felt ridiculously nervous to be around the Dwarves now he did not had more crockery to fuss over. He tried to swallow down the feeling along with his beer.

He saw Óin staring at him. The dwarf stomped his hand against the table and barked a laugh. “Nori! I believe you own me, pay up!”

Nori grunted between his teeth and tosses over a small bag of coin.

“Hey, over here as well!” Kili said as he waived his arms.

Did they take wagers? He saw the wizard was putting his own sack of money into his coat. Gandalf looked at him, raised his cup, and winked.

The night passed between jokes and tales. Three times Bilbo had to remind the barmaid to bring him the boiled beef with horseradish he ordered; by the fourth time she started to ignore him and he simply gave up. Some of the Dwarves were talking about a landslide in a bronze mine. The incident was to blame on the overseer, a bumptious Man who refused to take any advice from them. He had no interesting in mining and gems, and the conversation in front of him was far more interesting.

“Fat and brown, I tell you. Must have been bigger than this Inn. ” Nori exclaimed. “A softer dwarf would have shrunk away in fear, but not little Ori here. He dared to climb a tree to take a better look at the beast.”

Dori gasped in horror.

“It was hovering miles above our heads.” Ori tried to defend himself. “It could not see us from that distant.”

“So you tried to get closer?” Dori said, and the anger was deep in his voice.

“Hey, we still here, aren’t we?” Nori snapped. “And the only reason we were on the road was to deliver that embroidery canvas you made to the Urz family.”

“And if things went wrong, Ori would have given the beast a taste of Dwarvish iron.” Kili yelled loud enough to be heard by the whole table and Ori flushed all the way to his big ears.

As Nori and Dori continued to discuss, Bilbo turned his attention the younger Dwarf. “Was it a dragon you saw, Mister Ori?”

Ori looked up at him, his face still red with embarrassment, and tried to smile. “Yes, yes it was, Mister Baggins. But it was too far to be a threat, or to draw it properly.”

“Draw?”

“Oh, yes. I like to sketch what I see in my travels. It’s an engrossing way to pass the time.”

“And very useful, I imagine.” Bilbo said, “Where did you see the beast?”

“Close to the Eryde River. We were going back North, and after a while the dragon flew in the opposite direction.”

Far too close to the Blue Mountains for comfort. Around three months ago, a merchant who passed through the Shire told him how he lost his entire caravan to a dragon attack- for the description it probably was a parent teaching its hatchlings how to hunt. There must be a nest. The Slenn’bán clan was supposed to protect the West of the Harlindon region; _where were they?_

Ori must have misread his silence as apprehension, because he gave him a reassuring smile. “Do not worry, Mister Baggins. We travel with warriors, they know the roads and we’ll avoid all the dangers we can. ”

“I’m sure they will.” Bilbo answered. On the Wilds, trouble usually found you, no matter how hard you try to hide. But the dwarf’s concern was touching. “And tell me, Mister Ori, are you one?”

“I am a what?”

“A warrior.”

“Me? Oh, no, no, Mister Baggins. All Dwarves are fighters, but I don’t have the skills of a warrior. I do not fancy being in the heat of the battle _.”_ Ori admitted, but the last part came a little strained _. “_ Ranged weapon are my forte, and Bofur was kind enough to lend me his slingshot!”

“It was of no use to him, his aim is simply disastrous.” Bombur announced, interrupting the conversation.

“Aye, sadly I’m not a half-bovine, half-dwarf with a milch-cow like belly to shove Goblins away with.” Bofur retorted, he sounded both amused and offended, and Bilbo feared he was one of those folks who turn nasty when fuddled.

“A tactic that has not yet failed me.” Bombur grumbled, and then his eyes widened in outrage. “And cows can be a real threat when they want to!”

“Stampeding cows are serious business.” Bilbo informed; just ask the Goolder family, the best cattle breeders in Hobbiton; one especially hot summer, their entire herd went mad with the heat and pounced against any inattentive soul they laid eyes on. The family could not leave their smial for eight days.

“They are?” Ori asked.

“Aye, I had seen those types of injures, they are not nice to the eye.” Óin agreed.

“That’s why we need to eat the cows, before they become a danger on the roads.” Glóin stated, his words weighted with ale.

The Dwarves fell into silence, contemplating Glóin’s words, and this drunken conversation was turning too deep for Bilbo’s taste. The hobbit averted his attention towards Fíli and Kíli, who were sitting at the end of the table, quietly whispering to each other. The brothers noticed his stare before he could talk.

Kíli looked at him and smiled. “You made us worry, Mister Baggins. Some thought you would not show up at all!”

“And yet, you bet I would be joining you.”

Kíli looked a little uncomfortable. “Yes, well, Fíli said you would not come, so I said you would. We always vote different when we take wagers. It makes it more interest.”

Fíli shrugged. “And it was also a foolproof plan. One of us would be getting the money no matter what.”

“But I knew you would not abandon us!” Kíli exclaimed. He patted Bilbo on the shoulder and almost sends him face first into the table.

“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence.” Bilbo replied. Some travelers tripped over his bag, and he tried to put it underneath the table.

“I see you have a bow!” Kíli said, smiling. “I’m the company’s official archer myself.”

“That’s not even a real position.” Fíli frowned at his brother, and then looked at Bilbo. “Do you know how to use it, Mister Baggins?”

“Of course I do,” Bilbo told him, and his voice came out a bit more irritated than he intended. “We Hobbits have good eyesight and sharp ears, perfect for hunting.”

“Oh, if that is so- Mister Hobbit, I challenge you to an archery competition.” Kíli exclaimed happily as he stood up.

“What? Now!?”

“Why, you yield even before we start it?”

Hobbit’s eyes were unbothered by the light; but the sun had set and his sight was very poor in the dark. He tried to cover his worry with a shrug. “I haven’t been able to eat properly yet, perhaps it will be convenient to postpone it until the morrow.”

Kíli looked as if he wanted to object, but then he looked at the other side of the table and paled slightly. When Bilbo followed his eyes, he saw Thorin watching them with a cold and disapproving gaze. Kíli sat back with a pout and say no more to the hobbit for the rest of the night.

 

 

They traveled east.

Riding from dawn to dusk; up hills and down vales, through woods, plantations and rice fields. The lands after Bree were low and wet, and Bilbo’s skin felt sticky because of the humid weather.

Bilbo’s pony, Myrtle, was a gentle thing. Perhaps a little pass her primes, and she had a tendency to drift off from the road; but the hobbit became very fond of her. Still, he disliked horse riding with a passion. He could not ever forget those long cavalcades between Rohan and the Brown Lands. He had to share mount with Handar, one of his late shield-brothers, and the horse’s back was too wide for his small tights to wrap around. After the third day, he could barely sleep for the pain in his lower back, and he walked ridiculously for days.

The company treated him with civility –mostly of the time, at least-, and Bilbo would had been happy to speak solely to Gandalf all the way to the Lonely Mountain, but after the wizard started to evade him, claiming he was surprised to see a hunter frightened of the mere act of speaking with Dwarves; Bilbo decided that if he wanted to make the next months bearable, he needed to befriend the Dwarves.

Surprising, the company was more pleasant to be around than he originally thought.

Chatting with Ori while they rode also meant spending time with Dori, since the older dwarf was never more than a few steps away from his brother. He was not surprised to find out Ori was a scribe, and was documenting the journey. Both brothers shared a love for books and poetry, and despise their coarse-looking outside, Dwarves certainly wrote lovely verses. Every once in a while, Nori would slow down his pony and ride beside them.

Kíli had been cross with him ever since the hobbit outshot him with the bow the three times they competed.

The Dwarf was an excellent archer, but he also was too conceited for his own good. He allowed Bilbo to pick the target, and the hobbits choose tree swallows; those birds, with their erratic flight, are a challenge to shoot. But the hobbit knew them well, since they are native of the Shire. The second time, Kili decided they would hunt red squirrels; but Bilbo said they would do it at mid-day. The sun was high and merciless, and the Dwarf had to squint his eyes, barely able to aim properly. The last time was almost a tie. Nervous beads of sweat dotted Bilbo's forehead, and he could see Kili’s hands trembling slightly; after almost a dozen of shoots, the Dwarf missed the centre of the straw target by scant inches. Kili had sulked for two days and avoided him ever since, no matter how hard Bilbo tried to speak with him.

 

The first misfortune of the journey occurred almost three weeks after departing the Shire.

The Midgewater River has grown because of the season rain. The main bridge was almost overflowed, some parts even touched by the water. But the structure was steady -Or at least Balin thought so- and Thorin decided they will cross in pairs. Bilbo and Ori went first, and once they reached the other side, Kili and Fíli followed them.

They went slowly; Bluebell, Kili’s pony, was a young tetchy mare with an apparently fear of water. She was trying to turn around, and the Dwarf jerked the reins hard and made her keep walking forward.

They were almost at the other side of the channel when the disaster occurred.

It happened in the blink of an eye. A sudden gust of wind came from the north, strong enough to make Fili’s pony stumble against the railing and fraying what was left of Bluebell’s poor nerves.

The mare starts kicking and screaming. Kili tried to sooth her. He held the reins in one hand and petted the pony’s mane with the other. For half a second Bluebell seemed to have calmed down... and then she started rearing, once, twice. Fíli leaned over his own pony’s neck and grabbed his brother’s hood. Bluebell rose a third time and Kíli fell into the water, dragging Fíli with him.

From across the channel, the company screamed.

Bilbo and Ori rushed forwards. The sun was hiding behind the trees and the brother’s shapes were scarcely visible under the water.

Fili was the first one to break the surface, grabbing hold of a nearby willow root. The current was swift and he was not able to keep a hold on his brother’s cloak. His eyes were full of despair; between spitting out water and sucking in air he yelled ‘ _Kíli, Kíli_ ’. He tried to swim after his brother, but he sank again the moment he loosed his hold on the root.

“Help Fili!” Bilbo yelled to Ori. “I will go after Kili.”

Bilbo was a lousy swimmer; he was able to kick his legs back and forth and to keep his head above the water, but he could not master the river stream nor he would be able to keep the dwarf from sinking. Kili was wrestling against the water not so far from the shore; almost four hundred feet away, there was a fallen tree partially damming the flow. He could stand on top it and grab the dwarf. He just needed to reach before Kili.

He ran as fast as he could, jumping roots, rocks and ponds. _Faster, run faster, you are racing against death, run, RUN_.

Kili sank once again in the river by the time Bilbo reached the trunk. The moss almost made him reel. Forgetting all caution, he crossed the fallen tree in six, long steps and lunged forward when he saw a portion of the dwarf’s hood floating. He was able to catch it just in time, and wrapped the cloak around his hand.

Finally, Kíli broke through the surface.

The dwarf’s eyes were wide with panic, and he was half-coughing, half-breathing more water. But he was alive, and conscious.

Kili stretched a hand trying to grab the hobbit. But Bilbo’s arms were growing sore at the effort of holding the dwarf.

“The branches!” Bilbo yelled, and prayed Kili could understand him. “Grab the branches; I would not be able to hold you!”

Kili struggled against the river and the panic. He managed to grasp a small branch, but it broke under his weight.

Both hobbit and dwarf would have been carried away by the stream, if it had not been for Fíli and Ori arriving just in time.

Fíli grabbed his brother’s hand and helped him to get behind the trunk, where the flow was clogged and gentler. Slowly, without losing his hold on Kili, the blonde dwarf walked over the trunk, to the riverside.

Bilbo must have lost conscious for a few moments, because when he came back to himself he was on the shore, with river stones digging into his back.

“Mister Bilbo!”

With a great effort, the hobbit opened his eyes. Ori was looking down at him, his face twisted with concern. Gandalf was also at his side.

Bilbo manages to shakily smile. “Kili?” he asks.

“Alright, he is alright. The rest of the company is as well.” Ori reassured him.

If he had been in Kíli’s place, the company would be arranging how to send his body back to the Shire. It seemed Dwarves are as tough as the stories say. And yet, they wore armour so heavy they could not keep themselves from drowning.

Bilbo gathered enough strength to turn his head and look at his companions.

Kili was sitting, leaning against his brother. Thorin kneeled at his side while speaking with Óin. Fíli looked pale and was still breathing faster than he should; he too fell into the river, and rushed to help Kili while he was still coughing water.

“Bilbo.”

“I’m all right, Gandalf. Let me just lay quietly for a moment.”

The wizard said nothing more. He sat beside Bilbo, unbothered by the sharp river rocks, and watched the first stars appear in the dark afternoon sky.

 

They camped not too apart from the river. The company laughed and sang around the bonfire as any other night.

Ori took Bilbo’s usual task of handing around the bowls with stew. Dori and Bofur sat next to him and told him about one time when Nori fell into a mud bog. He was carrying a heavy bag –which he refused to drop- and the weight of it sank him hip-deep into the muck. He waited for many hours until Dori came looking for him. Nori finished the tale by saying his older brother just grabbed the bag and went back home, leaving him to spend the night on the mud.

Fíli did not move from his brother side since he dragged him out of the river; Kíli did not seem to mind; every once in a while he patted Fíli’s arm, as to reminded him he was still there.

This stressful afternoon was the first one of many yet to come. It would help them all to wake their senses and to keep them sharp. A journey with a great dragon waiting at the end can be nothing but dangerous.

 

 

Bilbo abruptly woke with someone saying his name. His mind was fogged with sleep and he instantly tighter his hand around his dagger.

“Mister Baggins.”

It was Fíli. The dwarf was in front of him, his shoulders loose and his voice calm, which meant they were not under attack.

Bilbo sat up, but did not drop his dagger. “Mister Fíli. What’s the matter?”

“I-I meant to thank you.”

“For what?”

Fíli inhales sharply. “You saved my brother’s life today; I am in debt with you, Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo smiled. “I did as much as I could, but I just got there sooner.” he said. Dwarves were certainly peculiar. “And thanks are not needed; I would do it again, if I must.”

“Why? You are not kin.” Fíli said, frowning in confusion.

“Because I can? I do not need a reason to help someone, nor a reward.”

Fíli looked at him for long heartbeats, then nodded and said nothing more. Still, he did not move.

All Bilbo wanted was to go back to sleep as soon as possible. He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “There was anything else you wished to discuss?”

“No.”

There was a very small field of fringed orchids beside the camp, and fireflies were dancing above the flowers. It was a lovely sight. A lone light bug flied between them.

“No.” Fíli repeated. “Sleep tight, Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo watched him go and sit next to Dwalin, who was on watch duty.

The sky was still dark. He appreciated Fili’s words, but he could have waited until the morning to speak with him, instead of waking him up in the wee of the night. Bilbo tossed and turned for a long while, silently cursing the dwarf until his own mind grew groggy and he succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the bookmarks, kudos and comments! You are all wonderful!
> 
> In the book, the almost-drowning thing happens before facing the Trolls. I decided to make it happen a little early on.

**Author's Note:**

> Hellu!  
> This is the first time I write in English. There are probably many mistakes, for which I'm really sorry. All comments, corrections and suggestions are happily welcome!  
> The title was taken from Lord Byron's [poem](http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/300274-i-am-ashes-where-once-i-was-fire-and-the).


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